In the Shadow of the Tiger (The Fighter Series Book 2) Page 4

  Mark Raeburn is or was, she wasn’t sure yet, her husband. This chapter in her life needed closing. Was he alive or was he dead? Riley was hoping the latter of the two.

  Riley kept nothing from Jack or at least she hadn't yet. She needed to either bury Mark metaphorically or find him and end it. Riley couldn't just meander down to the local courthouse and get a divorce. She'd have to finish it the only way she could, to his pathetic face. Riley was comfortable knowing Jack was present. If Mark lived, rage wouldn't be the only action she'd be facing. A battle was likely. Riley refused him the right to hurt her.

  Eric had a son to raise. Not alone, Riley and the Colton’s promised to be Eric’s pillar eliciting strength both physically and emotionally. Jonah, Eric’s son, was precious and Eric loved him to the moon and back, but he needed to get past his grief before he could take care of anyone. Somewhere in Jack’s conversations with Eric, he’d told him about the “Seraphina.” With Jack’s permission, Eric had come here to Long Beach to try and heal his broken heart.

  What troubled both Jack and Riley was the note Eric left on the boat.

  It read: Jack and Riley,

  Glad you made it here. Doing surveillance on the Queen Mary. Hope you brought the team.

  Eric

  They weren’t surprised he’d already connected with Axel, which also meant he was on the road to recovery, but now missing. Three reasons, three problems.

  Jack lived a good life. A ranch in Prescott, Arizona and a boat in Long Beach, California all before the Shift. He said there was more but liked to surprise her. In his defense, these were good places to recover after each mission. Jack had been going on missions long before the Shift happened and he had little slices of apple pie spread out all over the country. She couldn't wait to see the rest.

  “Did you watch many 007 movies as a kid?” Riley teased him once. She’d laughed harder when he grunted. “You’re like James Bond.”

  “I live to make you laugh.” He said.

  Yes, she was suffering from PTS (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) after being both Mark and Ringo’s victim. She still feared them even though Ringo was supposed to be dead. Plagued by chilling visions, she’d not only scared herself but Jack as well. Sometimes the reveries occurred when Riley slept or in deep thought describing it as a movie. She is the audience, haunted by dark scenes.

  Confused by hallucinations and unable to Google evil visions, she made libraries her number one stopping place. Between Prescott and missions, she’d gathered enough books to earn her degree in psychology. The books guided her allowing her reassurance the person having the vision could commonly have them about themselves. Riley saw the images as a warning. A warning she took seriously. After having a vision, her nose would bleed, and a slight headache would follow, one best cured by Jack. She'd gone to Nick for help, but they found little answers.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The soft movement of the ocean pushed the boats in the harbor softly. Hulls rubbed against weathered docks creaking and groaning in harmony. In the darkness, the sounds could've been taken as creepy, but Riley took comfort in the noises. She glanced back seeking out the gold letters of the "Seraphina, " but she blended into the darkness much as they did. She followed her team out onto the docks. They had dressed for the occasion black combat apparel armed with weapons and grenades. Riley tugged on the layers of clothing taking note where the cold air was sneaking in. She'd layered up for this mission including a full-face mask. Everyone wore headsets. The best soldiers or thieves could receive. Their gear was the finest. Even their clothing, items Riley could've never managed before the fight began. Jack outfitted them both efficiently and comfortably. Familiar to wearing fatigues and boots, Riley also kept an emergency bag for multiple role-playing. Those circumstances were rare. Life is a stage. The team had parts to play when warranted.

  Being Jack Colton's girl wasn't easy. When the team gathered, it was tougher, especially on larger missions. Riley could tell he worried about her. He's never asked her not to go on a mission, but she saw the concern in his eyes sometimes. It's not that she couldn’t fight, Riley believed Jack didn’t want to witness her death. To fight is their calling. Someday Megan, her adopted daughter, would have to engage in the fight. It was unavoidable. It’s in her surviving blood.

  Riley, who just spent five months training with John and Jeremy, felt ready. With the unexplained arrival of visions, she'd become a valuable asset to the team. Utah, Megan's sister, was watching from above. Riley believed the visions were a gift Utah had given her.

  As well, talent surrounded her. Each one of the team members skills particular expertise and much needed to perform each mission. Their world had declined, and they saw only one direction, forward. People, as a country, took for granted what they had. Complaining about what they didn't have. Society used the system up seeing how far they could push. That time was long gone. There was no balance of power.

  Riley turned just in time to see Ryan, Jack’s youngest brother, jog up behind the group. He took his place behind the pack while hacking on his team members. Playful though behind her beach blue eyes was a warrior. Under the moonlight, several ringlets of surfer boy blonde hair stuck out from under his black beanie. Ryan was a genuine chameleon. He could shift gears without even blinking an eye. Most important, he was a fighting machine.

  Ryan tossed Riley a playful smile, and she blushed. Jack, on the other hand, scowled at his younger brother for being late. A typical pre-mission dance. Butterflies danced within her, and she silently prayed Eric would appear. The small army of thirteen men and two women moved unseen through the gates of the harbor. The Queen Mary, a piece of history, rested in her slip across from them shrouded in a black blanket of darkness. Rumor had it, rats and rat-like-humans infested the boat. They were undeserving of taking possession of her space. Misleading, the city appeared quiet. Once they crossed through the main gate into the metropolis of Long Beach, everything would be different.

  Leading the pack, Blake Harris, Matt Cooper, and Jeremy Brown all of who have been with Jack from the start. They were his first picks for post-Shift missions. It would seem odd not to have them all together, after all, they were a team. Riley knew the group found humor to be stress relieving. Laughter was an asset in chaos. They were links in a chain and unbreakable.

  Riley fell in next to her partner, Blake. Blake Harris, aka Hawk, had been a promising quarterback at Arizona State. He'd joined the Colton brothers shortly after the Shift occurred. Blake was young, healthy and had the vision of a hawk earning him the nickname. His weapon of choice was a Smith and Wesson M&P15 Tactical a semi gas-operated, short stroke piston operating system. The man and the gun were a valuable asset to the team, and Jack depended on Blake often. It was only two short years ago that Jack took Blake under his wing as a leader and as a friend.

  Riley knew Matt wasn’t far behind and when he fell in next to Blake, Riley grinned. They were two peas in a pod so to say. Matt Cooper aka Coop had been best friends with Blake since kindergarten. Pre-shift, Matt had been preparing for a law enforcement career creating a perfect trainable asset to Jack's team. Blake and Matt trained together making Matt's tactical skills nearly as sharp as Blake's. Heckling was constant as well as allowed and always entertaining.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Gotta love Long Beach man.” 38 said already on alert.

  Conflict and violence was all 38 knew until he met the team. Luke Jacob, aka 38, was the youngest and scrappiest of the team. The kid was only sixteen, but his skills far surpassed his age. Riley wondered about his childhood. 38 grew up on the streets in Stockton. She imagined his history was a long one, but he never spoke of it. Riley often watched him, because he could unlock, disconnect, and take apart just about anything. While Riley watched, she learned. Self-sufficient was necessary, especially for women. 38 and Riley had a few things in common, facial scars included.

  “It’s too quiet.” She heard 38 say. “Fricken markers.”

  “Calm dow
n 38. You’ll get to relieve some tension tonight. I can feel it.” Triston replied breaking into a jog.

  “Yeah, yeah.” 38 mumbled.

  Something definitive about 38 was the detailed skull tattoo on his back. The artwork was incredible. The artist drew the head as if the animal was pressing out of his skin. Wicked! Fitting for 38, who had an arsenal of weapons and knives but favored a Colt .38 Special Combat.

  Triston the “Piston” Gable jogging past them was the team sniper from the start. Nicknamed because of his endless energy, the thirty-two-year-old could outrun any of them and never get tired. Standing six feet, he has long, lean muscles and lungs of an antelope. Over the years, Piston had become a skilled climber and jumper repelling while packing his Wilson Combat Tactical Super Sniper semi auto as well as a loaded backpack to places she'd never dream of going. Jack often sent Piston in first to clear the way. Riley called Tristan the brown-eyed thoroughbred warrior. A man you could easily love and fear at the same time.

  “Hey Relay. What do you think about Long Beach.” Terminator asked her. She knew he was behind her because of his footfalls.

  “It’s worthy to be saved.” She said.

  38-year-old Conner Manning, aka “Terminator.” Quiet but proven to be calculating. Tactically methodical, his methods are precise. A reflection of the fictional character in the movie "Terminator" he's proven his abilities to be both efficient and deadly. Ironically, his birth name is "Conner, " the kid in which "Terminator" was after. Terminator, someone you'd want to have on your side. He didn't keep a weapon of choice because he favored all of them. Deadly and handsome looking, he held the broadest shoulders and a headful of dark hair that's beginning to gray.

  Evan Rolland aka “Cobra” snuck up on them.

  “Hey Cobra!” Blake grinned.

  “How do you do that?” Riley whispered.

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He replied making Riley grin.

  She saw Cobra as a bad boy of a different kind. The man was a silent ninja. Like Eric who shared that skill. Fighters had to be quiet, or they'd end up dead. They could creep, under any conditions unheard. Evan was also a gun collector of sorts, and he is the team floater taking on any position needed, but she guessed his favorite position was to have Piston’s back. Cobra looked to be around thirty-five years in age. He was a resident at the High Desert State Prison in Blythe, California pre-shift. He claimed he was set up for whatever he did. The more she got to know him, the more she believed him. Riley would love to know his story. Curiosity! Jack knew, but he kept it to himself trusting the man often with his life.

  “Better be some shopping involved.” Riley heard Conman say behind them.

  Guy Smith nicknamed “Conman” was cackling. She assumed Smith was a front because he could easily win an academy award for his acting. She guessed Guy to be around twenty-eight. Guy kept their team colorful. He played any role Jack threw at him and did it with flavor.

  “What’s in the bag Conman?” Mustang asked teasing rather than being inquisitive.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Conman said.

  “Can’t be much,” Mustang said. “Bags small.”

  “Exactly.” Conman laughed. “You’ll see.”

  “Should be entertaining,” Mustang said.

  “Oh, I promise.”

  What made Guy different, Guy enjoyed dressing up. He wears stilettos better than any woman Riley’s ever known. Conman is half-Caucasian and half African-American giving him chocolate milk skin set off by piercing blue eyes. Put it this way, she’d feel a hundred percent at ease lending her favorite shirt to Conman, but Riley wouldn’t want to fight him. Another plus, Conman’s laugh was contagious.

  When Mustang flew past them, Riley grinned. The man ran moved like a gold medalist. Being a runner herself, she recognized that trait. She chuckled softly thinking about the others that made up this ragtag team. Andrew Love, aka "Mustang" 39 years young and smart. Mustang was like one of those movie stars cracking safes, robbing banks and breaking codes on computers. Nerdy, techy but hardy like a horse. Clearly, Mustang earned his nickname rightfully so. Something was charming about Andrew's personality combined with his clean and streamlined appearance. Straight jet-black hair lightly salted gray on the tips in which he kept slicked back into a style fit for the fifties. Mustang, having a high IQ, reflected a sexy smartness. He filled the position of the computer guru, security tech, and mechanic. Two traits about Mustang, he hated to get his hands dirty, and he loathed elevators. His phobia of elevators was extreme. Jack tried to help Mustang with his fear problem, but the results had ended badly and involved his .38 Infinity.

  "Champagne taste in weapons." She thought picturing him pulling out the pistol in the elevator screaming at Jack to let him out.

  "Hey! I think Jack said our only way in was an elevator." Martinez reading her mind and tried to keep from choking up into a burst of laughter.

  Riley bowed her head a little to hide her grin. The pre-fight teasing had begun.

  “Funny Mo. I heard the dead on the Mary don’t like smart mouthed little Mexicans.” Mustang fired back. Geeky not boring.

  “Diablos!” Martinez hissed. The heckling continued until the tempo turned serious and even then, slurs slipped.

  There was no ignoring Manuel Martinez, the forty-eight-year-old Mexican with both attitude and charm. The team named Manuel "Mo" and sometimes "Old Man." Riley was still trying to piece together for calling him Mo. The others think that's funny. They did say however when the little Mexican gets into a fight; he's entertaining. Riley's believed Mo could socialize with the roughest or richest of crowds. Seeing him convert from salty sailor to a charming gentleman while not skipping a beat. Riley couldn't understand him when he spoke Spanish, which is beautiful but fast. She could see why Jack used Mo as a floater. He could go everywhere and do anything.

  Somewhere back in the pack, Riley knew, walking with Ryan, was Samantha AKA Sam. Riley liked her, being the rookie and the only other woman actively going on missions. The woman, a beautiful redhead, twenty-six years young, 5'8", and 140 pounds of MMA champion material or at least she was before the shift. Sam tested Riley’s physical abilities on many occasions. Like most of the crew, Sam's family were deceased. The team was her family now.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Harbors edged ended where the city began echoing sounds of disturbed life warning trespassers. Dogs, once domestic, scrambled through the alleys spooked by an invisible force. Not far between tall buildings, vagrants were chucking bottles at cement walls in protest watching the team arrive at the gates. The sound of breaking glass, yelling and dogs baying broke the rare silence. Riley looked over at Blake who nodded as they neared the bus that would take them to the Queen Mary.

  As Riley figured, she would be shadowing Blake. The arrangement worked for everyone, Riley included. Jack did not take one ounce of any mission lightly and partnering up individuals was one he took most seriously. Riley wondered if Blake hated being teamed up with the bosses woman. If he did, he never showed it.

  They climbed aboard the city bus except for Jack who stood out the door looking for one more member of their team, Eric. When he didn’t show, Jack jumped aboard with a troubled expression. As the bus pulled away from the harbor, Riley tried to read Jack’s thoughts until the skyline pulled her from her worries. The city was no longer condos and apartments, but hiding places for monsters. It was a strange feeling looking at the broken establishments, mostly restaurants. The World famous hamburgers joint and voted best BBQ eating place sat broken and uninhibited. In front of PF Changs a horse statue watched the city day and night, the warrior on his back steadfast. She liked that one.

  The electric motor of the bus hummed quietly past side streets with only a dim light to guide them by. A car in a nearby parking lot had been set on fire by markers, who stopped dousing the lames with gas, as the bus passed. The vagrants scrambled, chucking bottles as they disappeared into the night. There was no room for error, no
room for emotion. Her faithful Smith and Wesson 40.06 sat in her hands, her finger occasionally stroking the trigger guard. Her early Christmas present, a Nighthawk Masters addition 9 mm accessorized with a Heinie Slant Pro Night Sight. Her gift, less exciting in the weapons department, but one hell’ve a night in lingerie. She grinned thinking about it.

  At their destination, they, in a single line, exited the bus. Half the team had boots on the ground when a bloodcurdling scream rattled the darkness. The bus, having parked in the furthest parking lot, gave everyone enough time to assess the surroundings. The deadly game of Hide-and-Seek had already started. With darkness came the evil and with evil came death. The night was for those seeking to steal supplies, search out violence and embrace the power of lawlessness. Riley fell in next to Blake trying to shove her anxiety to the side. In front of them was the Queen Mary shrouded behind a thin mask of darkness. The ship was an outline enclosed by opaque fog.